


"Safe" Journeys

by jillyfae



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Ficlet Collection, Friendship, Gift Giving, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 14:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Pariah and the Champion.  Short fic collection for Tisala Hawke/Merrill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. tickles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [fireflybynight](http://fireflybynight.tumblr.com/) asked: Merrill/Hawke 14  
>  (14: Kiss Along the Hips)

Merrill was ticklish.

The rub of a nose down her neck, the slightest caress of fingers down her sides, a breath of air against her cheeks, her knees, her elbows, and she’d be laughing, helpless and hopeful and lighter than air.

Tisala liked to kiss Merrill’s nose, and then Merrill’s shoulder, a light brush of her lips, her hair trailing after, dark and black against pale smooth skin, each separate sensation making Merrill giggle, and gasp, until her every breath lifted her chest and curved her back.

She’d kiss her stomach, flick her tongue into the dip of her navel and feel Merrill’s body curve beneath her, and then she’d kiss along the edges of her hips, and that laughter would deepen, and soften, a sigh of anticipation, heat flushing beneath her skin.

Only then, when laughter faded into something quiet and warm, would Tisala’s hands settle around Merrill, pull her close, and tickle her sides until she shrieked.


	2. aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [leahazel](http://leahazel.tumblr.com) requested "Merrill/Hawke, bite" from a prompt meme.
> 
> beware unhappiness, this takes place right after Merrill's Quest in Act III :(

Her fingers were claws, her body taut, her voice a wordless howl as she fought and pushed, catching on Hawke’s arms. For a moment, just a breath, Hawke was afraid, afraid of what Merrill would do with the smell of blood in the air,  _my blood beneath her nails,_  afraid for her, afraid of her, the air thick enough with desperation it was hard to breathe, and Hawke needed to protect her, to save her, to keep this one last love, all the rest long dead or lost behind thick stone.

She didn’t call her magic, though the possibility hung there, the heavy tang of metal and the weight of lightning against their skin.  Instead she pushed, and pulled, strong legs and determined arms and the sudden sharp pressure of teeth as she bit the side of Hawke’s neck a muffled scream breaking through the skin.

"Damnit, Merrill," Hawke moved, slamming the armful of elf against a tree, hard enough to knock the breath out of her, hard enough,  _she hoped,_  to knock some sense into her.

Merrill’s body heaved, caught between bark and the leather of armor, eyes wide and breath rough as she tried to fill her lungs with air.  "You claimed me, like some  _pet,_  some monster on a leash. How dare —"

"Would you rather I killed them?" Hawke’s voice cut through Merrill’s words, low and harsh and quick.  "I would kill them all, to keep you safe, is that what you want?"  She could feel her own chest ache, her eyes open too far, recognized the same desperation in herself that had so worried her in Anders when they met, obsession and desire and need all knotted together as she stared into her lover’s wide green eyes.  "Do you want their blood on my hands?"

Merrill shuddered, body limp and heavy, and shook her head.

"Are you not mine?" Hawke whispered, breath blowing against the pale soft skin of Merrill’s neck as she tucked her head in close.  "As I am yours?"

"Always _,"_ Merrill whispered back, her arms shifting to wrap around Hawke’s shoulders.  "We are each other’s, my Tisala."

Hawke felt her own body shudder now, leaning them both against the tree so she would not fall to the ground.  "I am sorry for your loss, my heart."

"As am I,  _ma vhenan._ ”


	3. AU Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [cq](http://carrionqueen.tumblr.com/) prompted: "Meet Me: Any of your Hawkes meets the Amell Warden; distant-relative awkwardness (or not!) ensues. Bonus points if it’s my Alexandra Amell (her tag is on my character page) :D"

Hawke staggered to a halt, trying to resist the urge to lunge forward.  She wasn’t sure what she’d do when she got there, but still, she wanted, so very badly, for it to be possible.

“ _Ma vhenan,_ ” Merrill’s hand on her arm was the only thing keeping her still, “she looks just like…”

“She does.”  Hawke licked her lips and swallowed.  She looked just like her mother, minus thirty years and adding Warden blue across her shoulders.   _And putting a staff in her hands …_

The crowd shifted just enough to allow a clearer look, and she wasn’t just wearing Warden blue, she was in actual Warden armor, her painful similarity to Leandra dimming as she moved, the pace of her steps and the shift of her hips different enough to allow Hawke’s throat to ease, even as it also allowed her to spot the Warden’s partner, a vaguely familiar blond elf in very sleek leather armor, not even a trace of blue, eyes sharp as he looked past his companion’s shoulder and spotted them staring.

His face went tight, for just a breath, and then suddenly he smiled, wide and warm, as if he’d never had a dangerous thought in his life, and his head tilted enough to bring the tattoos beside his eyes to her attention, and she finally recognized him.

_Isabela’s Zevran, the Crow … The Warden’s Crow._

He lifted his finger to his lips, a visible  _shh_  even across the marketplace, and tapped the warden on the shoulder.  She turned, and followed his gaze, and smiled, warm and sweet, a sad shadow crossing her face even as her lips curved.

Hawke’s breath caught at that, fire in her chest,  _a living Amell, my mother’s smile,_  and she could hear the whine in the back of her own throat as the warden and the assassin nodded briefly, and then disappeared into the crowd.

"Was that?"  Merrill’s breath was whisper soft beside her, fingers still lightly resting on Hawke’s arm.

"I think so."  Not that there was really any doubt left.  Warden blues, an Amell smile, and Zevran guarding her back.  

"Didn’t she … disappear?"  

No one knew where Alexandra Amell had gone, and not even Hawke’s gold and Varric’s contacts had ever provided the slightest lead.  She doubted she’d have much luck tracing them out of Cumberland either, not now she was half on the run herself.

"Apparently not completely."  Hawke made herself shrug, tried to ignore the tight clench of her fingers.  

Merrill leaned in close, her shoulder brushing against Hawke’s arm until Hawke turned to look her in the face, meeting wide eyed compassion, soft and warm enough to ease the lingering ache in her chest.  "I’m sorry she wouldn’t let us find her."

"So am I, Merrill."  Hawke let herself relax enough to drop a soft kiss on Merrill’s forehead.  "Let’s go, my heart.  Nothing left for us here."


	4. nature worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> originally a kink!meme fill with a 'generic' Marian Hawke, I edited this for final posting, and to fit for Tisala and Merrill specifically.

Merrill had stopped walking forward, instead turning in a slow circle, head back, admiring the leaves against the sky, or the shape of the clouds, or possibly just enjoying the breeze and the feel of her spinning body. It was sometimes hard to tell, with Merrill, but the curve of her lips and the light in her eyes when she slowed and smiled back at Tisala was unmistakable.

It always made Tisala’s breath catch, those beautiful eyes, so delighted to see her. Tisala took two quick strides to catch up, unable to resist the allure of those cheekbones, her thumbs smoothing along the elf’s skin before her fingers slid back behind her head and pulled her close.  
  
She intended nothing more than a gentle kiss, enjoying the warmth of sun on Merrill’s skin, the way she always smelled fresh and green and alive.  
  
Merrill, however, had other ideas, thin strong arms suddenly wrapped around Tisala’s shoulders, her tongue dancing inside Tisala’s mouth, her foot trailing up the back of Tisala’s leg as she hummed approval into her lover’s mouth.  
  
Tisala almost pulled away, almost blinked, but still, just this once, _safe enough._  Her hands slid down Merrill’s neck to find the edges of armors and clothes, wanting to see her skin lit by sun and protected by forest shadow, cool and pale against the green around them.

Merrill’s head fell back, her light laugh sparkling through the air when Tisala’s hands slid down her back, under her arse, and picked her up, fingers spread along her thighs to touch as much of that smooth warm skin at once as possible. ”And where are you taking me, that could be more perfect than right here and now?”  
  
“Nowhere,” Tisala kissed her way along Merrill’s neck, licking gently until she reached the edge of her ear, tugging slightly at her lobe with her teeth, smiling as Merrill shivered. ”But I do so love the feel of you in my arms.”

"Is that all you love?"

"I love the taste of you on my tongue."

Merrill sighed, a curve of neck and a warm breath, and Tisala lowered her to the ground, permitting herself the slightest of smiles as Merrill shifted against the tickle of grass beneath her back.

“And I love your skin against mine,” Merril lifted her head enough to murmur against Tisala neck, her tongue quick and light as she traced a path up and along the curve of Tisala’s ear.  
  
“Mmm,” Tisala couldn’t find a single thing wrong with that idea, and her leathers disappeared rather quickly under the attention of four sets of hands.  And then Merrill pushed, a grin flashing bright and sharp as Tisala rolled easily back until she was the one sprawled across the grass.

Her eyes closed as Merrill slowly crawled above her, each brush of skin enough to make Tisala's breath catch in anticipation, each fleeting caress of fingers tracing a line across her skin a wonderful torment.

Merrill's touch always felt so good, light and slow and controlled.

Merrill’s tongue on her skin was even better, tracing her collarbone down to her chest.

The sudden press of Merrill's hand between Tisala's thighs was indescribable, and she'd barely managed a gasp for breath, a shift of her hands to brace herself against the ground, when Merrill's fingers slid up, and in, and Merrill's mouth sucked on Tisala's nipple.

Her whole body arched in reaction to the quick, hard movements of the hand pushing inside her and the mouth attached to her breast, hot and wet and strong, and Merrill hummed again, a low steady thrum that Tisala could feel everywhere, warmth beneath her skin.  Slender fingers twisted, and teeth pressed against her breast, and Tisala’s shoulders dug into the dirt as she shoved her hips up against Merrill's hand.  
  
That wicked, teasing hand, tracing her lips then shoving inside, but completely ignoring her clit, the sensitive nub aching and burning with neglect. Tisala’s whole body twisted, trying to rub against a palm, an arm, something, anything, a frustrated whimper building in her throat.  She broke off with a gasp as Merrill lifted her head, Tisala's nipple still caught between her teeth, pulling, stretching, almost pain, heat and tension shooting down her body.

_Please._

Merrill's mouth moved to her other breast, air cool against wet skin, her abandoned nipple hard and sore and throbbing, even as Merrill gently rolled the second between her lips.  

And always, her hand was still moving, sharp and quick and hard, again, again, and Tisala's hips responded, following each shift, each thrust, her stomach tightening as the pressure built, heat and tension gathering inside her.

"Please," Tisala whispered, almost softer than her breath, and Merrill laughed, low this time, and Tisala felt it against her skin, and bucked up harder,  _close, so close, please,_ and Merrill lifted her head at last, kissed her, hard, and shifted her arm just enough to rub the heel of her hand up against Tisala's clit, even as her fingers curved, and the whole green world went white and hot and silent as Tisala came.

The rhythm of Merrill's hand eased at last, slow and gentle as she eased Tisala back down, and when Tisala eventually sighed out one last breath and opened eyes she couldn't remember closing, Merrill laughed again, breath soft against the skin of Tisala's cheek. "Welcome back."

Tisala lifted her hand from the grass, ignored the dirt beneath her nails to let her fingers rest against the clean edge of Merrill's jaw. "May I?"

Merrill smiled, and nodded, and let her lips press to Tisala's again, warm and soft this time, a rich slow kiss that didn't end even when Tisala rolled Merrill onto her back.

Tisala lifted herself until she was sitting back on her heels, breathless in the face of Merrill's smile, the sight of her framed in cool green grass, just slightly darker than her eyes, shadows dappling across her _vallaslin_. She admired, for another few breaths, before lowering her head to Merrill’s lips, a gentle kiss, savoring the sweet light taste of her mouth until she felt Merrill’s nails digging into her upper arms, her chest lifting up beneath Tisala's body.

Merrill's head lifted as they parted, following Tisala’s mouth for a moment before falling back to the ground. "Turn around, _ma vhenan_." A rasp in the lilt of her voice did nothing to hide the steel beneath the order.

Tisala obeyed.

Eventually.

First she kissed the tip of Merrill's ear, the highest point of her cheek, traced the line of a tattoo across her face with her tongue, moving down her neck, her shoulders, her chest. She paused to suck a nipple, tease the other with her fingers, let hands and lips trail across the curve of ribs, the swell of stomach, the line of hips.

Only when she could hear the change in Merrill's breathing, faster and shallower, could see the shift of her body, a roll of hips and spreading thighs, did Tisala finally turn, bracing her knees above Merrill's shoulders, her hands by her hips.

Strong fingers dug into her thighs before she'd managed to do more than bend her head down to kiss the smooth skin of Merrill's thigh, to breathe in the scent of her, and anticipation quickened Tisala's breath only an instant before Merrill moved.  
  
Merrill’s tongue suddenly darted up, a quick flick against Tisala’s clit, and Tisala gasped, and her eyes closed, and she couldn't move at all for a moment, all thoughts gone, lost in the feel of Merrill's tongue, the warmth of her breath.  Once she blinked herself back under control, it was her turn, a slow slide of tongue down between Merrill's folds, back up to find her clit, to push harder with every lick, to shift her jaw as Merrill's body jerked and bucked in reaction.

A contest of sorts, a race, to see who won, _we both win,_  until Merril arched higher, breathless, the slightest shiver beneath taut skin.

She fell back against the ground, loose and warm for but a few moments as Tisala gently continued to kiss her, to taste her slick, to run her lips along the crease at the top of her thighs, to nibble gently along her skin.

Merrill seemed content to sigh, to accept Tisala's attention, to savor the quiet.

Until she wasn't, the hard press of a thumb precise against Tisala's clit, a tongue pushing inside Tisala's cunt, and a shock of lightning cast between the two.

Tisala body clenched tight, too tight to breath, to make a sound, arms and legs giving way as she fell down on top of Merrill, fingers curling into the dirt and toes curling in the air, endless and beautiful, aftershocks shimmering beneath her skin, behind her eyes, on and  _on,_ hot and unpredictable, searing heat finally settling in her throat as her body gave one last shiver.

Merrill shifted her weight, slithered free as Tisala sighed, giving up on any exertion more strenuous than breathing for the next little while.  Merrill moved up to lie beside her, face to face, lifted a hand to smooth Tisala's hair back from her temple, over and over, fingers light and soothing.  Only when Tisala finally managed to blink, to smile, slow and heavy, did she move in for a kiss, a gentle press of lips, the slightest flick of her tongue before she lay back down again.

"I should take you out on nature hikes more often."

Tisala huffed out a half a laugh, rolled through the grass yet again, this time settling on her back and pulling Merrill in close to her side.  "Anytime you desire, my heart."


	5. afternoon delight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so [Chris](http://darthkrzysztof.tumblr.com/) requested some Merrill/F!Hawke flirtatious shopping and shoe/foot/actual porn in response to my request for prompts. 
> 
> I really only managed the vaguely flirtatious day shopping before hand, but still, I do enjoy Merrill enjoying Hawke.

It always made her want to smile, the stiff hint of terror across a shopkeeper’s shoulders whenever Hawke aimed a glare in their general direction.

Probably part of why she’d agreed to this shopping trip, despite multiple attempts to explain how little she actually needed something to cover her toes to keep them out of the muck when they went traipsing through Darktown.  The skin was tough enough for her needs, and it was easier to wash skin than leather, now wasn’t it?

But Hawke was determined.

And Hawke was so very pretty when she was determined.  She lifted her chin higher, and her eyes caught the light, deep and dark like a stream beneath shadowing trees, the slightest glint like a flash of light catching against the current, and Merrill could so easily just spend all day watching her.

Plus every time she turned away from shopkeepers and caught Merrill’s eyes, her shoulders and jaw would soften, just a little, the tiniest lift at the corner of her mouth, even smaller than the smile Fenris used to manage when Isabela was still around and teasing him, so slight almost no one else would probably notice, but Merrill adored it.

Hawke never did that for anyone else.

Besides, shoes were almost nice when Hawke put them on her, the strong grip of her fingers just firm enough not to tickle, slow and soft enough to entice instead, and Merrill would lean back in the chair, and close her eyes and sigh, and for just a moment she’d wonder if she’d keep this shoe on, because everything felt  _perfect._

But then she’d wiggle her toes, and realize how trapped they were, and shake her head.

Hawke would sigh, and firm her jaw again, determined to continue her quest,  _goodness, my feet are a quest, how fun is that?,_ and Merrill would catch her hand as they strode out the doorway, and lean in close, a brush of hips, or shoulders, and Hawke would smile, and squeeze her fingers around Merrill’s, and everything was lovely.

Perfect, even.

They picked up food from a cart hiding behind one of Kirkwall’s ever so many staircases, shredded meat of a questionable nature, shredded vegetables covered in pale mild cheese, all wrapped in thick greasy flatbread.

One of the few nice things about living in Kirkwall.  Little food stands everywhere, full of things she never would have thought of making herself.

Nothing compared to the fact that  _Hawke_ was in Kirkwall, of course, but it was still fun.

Merrill took her time licking her fingers clean afterward, a pleased hum in the back of her throat, and grinned at Hawke over her shoulder when she skipped back towards the market proper, delighted by widening eyes and a hint of a swallow going down her throat.

One particular shopkeep that afternoon seemed determined not to serve an upstart Fereldan and her kept elf, and Hawke seemed equally determined to teach him a lesson, despite the fact he really wasn’t worth the bother, no pretty straps anywhere for Hawke to smooth past Merrill’s toes.

“ _Ma vhenan._ " Merrill leaned in as close as she could, body pressed against Hawke’s side, her whispered breath reaching up to catch at Hawke’s ears, her hand trailing lightly down Hawke’s back, sliding to find the curve of hip, to tease along the side of her arse.  "There are better ways to spend our afternoon rather than arguing with this  _da’alas._ ”

Hawke didn’t quite jump as Merrill’s fingers found the sensitive line along the top of her thighs, but she didn’t manage to swallow the catch in her breath or the flare of her nostrils, and there was heat in her eyes as she turned away from the idiot  _shem_ and stalked out the door again.

"Merrill." Hawke’s voice seemed part sigh, part amusement, part exasperation, as she came to a halt on the cobblestones outside.

"Tisala." Merril answered, low and steady, and she was standing too close, she knew, much too close for decency, but there were so many more important things in life than propriety, like the way the light got lost in Hawke’s hair, or how warm her skin felt beneath the sun.

Her eyes were so warm, and that almost invisible smile was back.  ”I absolutely forget what I’m saying whenever you look at me like that.”

"Like what?"  Merrill sighed a little as Hawke turned away and began walking again, _so close,_  even as her fingers caught against Merrill’s and gave her a gentle tug so they could walk together.  

Hawke never had kissed her in public, had never done any more than hold her hand, and every once in a while she wondered if Hawke refrained because that was just how she was, too long hiding behind deceptively lazy eyelids to let anything loose now, or if it was specifically Merrill she didn’t want to kiss where anyone’s eyes could see her.

"I’m not going to tell you." The almost smile widened, a bit of a laugh hiding in her voice. "Then you might start using it a’purpose, and I’d be completely helpless before you."

Hawke’s fingers tightened, and she shifted her weight, a sudden brush of lips against Merrill’s temple making her feet stutter to a halt, a startled blush warming beneath her cheeks, an ache in her chest making it hard to breathe until she felt the air of Hawke’s laugh against the tip of her ear, and she shivered herself into a quick gasp of air.

"Have to keep up appearances in public, my heart." Hawke’s voice was rough and low, a sibilant whisper that made every thing ache in response, the clench of their hands so tight Merrill’s fingers hurt.  "I prefer to be naked when I’m at your mercy."

"We could do that." Merrill whispered, voice barely loud enough to travel on her breath.  "We could do that right now?"  She took a hopeful step backward, in the vague direction of a path back to Hightown.

She watched Hawke swallow again, a hum in her breath before she shook her head, just a little.  ”But I haven’t found you…”

Merrill stepped forward again, lifted a finger to press briefly against Hawke’s lips.  ”I’m not going to wear shoes. Not even for you.”

"Then why’d you let me drag you all over the markets?"

"Because I wanted to spend the day with you?"  Merrill tilted her head and bit her lip. "And you kept touching me, and kneeling at my feet, and really, I couldn’t say no?"

Hawke’s lips twitched, a hint of a shrug as she processed that particular bit of logic.  ”Well, when you put it like that.”

Merrill giggled, and skipped backwards again, eyebrows lifting in a wordless question.

Hawke smiled, properly for once, wide and slow and sweet, and offered Merrill her arm.  ”Shall I escort you home, my heart?”

"Yes, please,  _ma vhenan._ ”


	6. gratitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [atomicpen](http://atomicpen.tumblr.com/) requested: "DA Satinalia-related. Because holiday spirit and why not?"
> 
> _Why not indeed? <3_
> 
> Also, I love Merrill. Just saying. :)

Anders found a basket of kittens outside the Clinic's doors.  They were fast asleep, all tangled together and wrapped up in a scrap of blanket.  It was a knobbly, textured sort of knit, in shades of brown and green, some style he'd never seen before, but it was soft and warm, and already full of kitten hair, so he left it where it was without thinking too much about it.

* * *

 

Aveline thought quite a lot about the box that showed up on her desk.  There were two hats, two scarves, and two sets of exceedingly thin mittens with strips of leather woven in between the yarn, so the wearer could still grip a sword through them.

One set was rather a distinctive orange color, very close to the same shade as her hair, and the other ...

The other was precisely as warm and soft as Donnic's eyes.

* * *

 

Fenris kept finding socks and small fingerless gloves.

Everywhere.

In his belt pouch.

On his pillow.

Under his bed.

Lying on his kitchen counter.

Ridiculous bright colors, red and yellow and green and blue and purple.

Purple socks.

Ludicrous.

But the gloves were fine enough he could tend his sword and armour without needing to take them off.

And the socks were very warm and soft when he curled up in front of his fireplace to practice his reading.

Not that he would admit that out loud.

Ever.

* * *

 

Sister Etheline brought a paper wrapped package to Sebastian's door, smiling as she claimed it had been left for him in the kitchens.  She'd almost winked, in fact, an observation that had brought Sebastian perilously close to a laugh.  

Etheline was a lovely good woman, and one of the few in the Chantry who seemed to like Hawke, and quite definitely the only one who seemed to approve of Sebastian's friendship with the ragtag group of not-quite-mercenaries who were attempting to clean up Kirkwall.

He started to unwrap it after she left, carefully untying the cord and peeling back the paper so it could be reused, until his hands clenched at the first clear sight of the fabric inside, the tear of paper loud in his silent cell.

He could hear his own breath as he sighed a moment later, shaky and uneven, fingertips gentle against the soft cloth.  Most people, when they thought of Starkhaven, remembered the white and gold of the Vael family's banners, or the red and black of the city seal.

Very few cared about the clans who used to fill the mountains.

Someone knew, though.

Sebastian smiled as he pulled the rest of the paper off, admiring the bright reds and blues and greens of the blanket.  He shook it out, found himself wondering briefly what it was made out of, lighter and softer than wool, stronger than linen.  It was knitted, rather than woven, so it wasn't quite a proper tartan blanket, but the colors were perfect, one thin line of yellow almost hidden in the twisted braid of the pattern along the edges.  

His smile widened into a grin as he smoothed the blanket over the foot of his bed.  It brightened up the whole room.

* * *

 

Isabela closed her eyes, trying not to wince in anticipation of the unpleasant clang of glass that always greeted her when she reached into the chest where she kept her potions and poisons.

She blinked, instead, at the very subtle bump that was all that she heard when her fingers brushed against the first smooth cool neck of glass.  Tilting her head, she took a proper look, and burst out laughing.

Every single bottle had a new open-work cozy, thickly braided yarn in an almost sling cushioning each and every one as they sat next to each other.  

There were even a few extra sets in a pile on one side of the chest, ready and waiting for whatever she decided to buy or make next.

* * *

 

There were pillows everywhere in the Amell estate.

A giant one on the hearth in the main room, already full of mabari hair.

Several different colored medium ones, on almost every single chair or sofa or bench in the entire house.

Sandal and the mabari had finally worn themselves out, after an epic pillow fight that had ranged back and forth over the entire house, and collapsed on a pile of them they'd collected in front of the study fireplace.

You could hear their snoring all the way up to the second floor landing.

Leandra kept laughing, every time she found a new one.  Right until she found the smallest one of all, the cover a twist of white crochet to look just like a bloom of Andraste's Grace, resting right in the middle of her bed.  Then she smiled.

Hawke had one too, though it was red, the bloom in the middle shaped like a rose.

* * *

 

_Dearest Varric,_

_Thank you ever so much for finding a merchant with halla yarn for me last year.  I hope it didn't cost you too much?  I finished everyone else's feast-day present in plenty of time._

_Though I have no idea where you found so many pillows for me to cover.  Thank you._ _Do you think they'll like them?  I do so hope so.  The Estate is so big and empty some days, I thought it needed filling up._

_I was going to make you a blanket, like Sebastian's, only all red and thick and square like those statues that lined the roads in the Deep Roads, for those nights you feel extra dwarfy._

_But no one really likes the Deep Roads anymore._

_And besides, you have all that lovely chest hair to keep you warm, so you probably don't even need a blanket, do you?_

_But you tell the nicest stories, so I thought maybe you'd like this better.  I'm not nearly as good at telling them as Hahren Paivel, but I wrote down some of my favorites for you._

Varric smoothed the parchment carefully under his hand, before folding the letter and sliding it inside the small leather book he'd found on his table.  It was a dark green leather, a paler green line tying down the spine and trim, and tiny neat yellow stitches in the middle of the cover, forming the cheerful petals of a daisy.


	7. Serendipity (AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shadoedseptmbr prompted [National Park Rangers](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/82040209948) for Tisala and Merrill.

Every year, Tisala talked about taking a vacation, of wandering off to go see a show, or museums, or even just explore the stacks at the National Library; something different than life here in the Park.

And every year, she and Merrill would plan their week off, and head out for bright lights and fancy restaurants … and they’d always come back a day or two early, and spend their last few nights camping beneath the trees and the stars, waking up with the sunrise and huddling together for warmth, a kiss on the very tip of a dainty nose, cool finger-tips trailing along ribs until giggles broke free, long, slow, soft kisses warming both of them up, until it was unexpectedly almost lunchtime, and Tisala’s stomach rumbled, or Merrill had to go pee behind a tree, and they’d spend the day laughing and playing, enjoying the endless bright fresh air, clear and quiet for kilometers in every direction.

Tisala’s favorite part, every year, was watching Merrill watch the sunset that last night, toes curling in the moss, shifting shadows crossing her skin as the last rays of sunlight got caught amidst the leaves on their way to warm her face.


	8. acrophobia

The Witch told her to jump, that that was the only way to fly.

But Hawke had always been afraid of falling.

Afraid she would bring her family down with her, would lose her sister to the ever present threat of Templars or Demons.

Not that she was sure there was that much difference between the two, either sure of their own righteousness, both hungry to keep a mage under their power.

And Bethany deserved so much better.

Bethany deserved everything, and it hurt, that she had to settle for a life in the shadows.

Still.

Even for Bethany, Hawke didn’t think she ever would have had the strength to walk to the edge of the cliff and deliver the Witch’s charm to the altar, would have been able to risk that endless expanse of air waiting to catch her, and drop her, if she moved just a step too far.

The slim young elf had led the way, had turned just enough to smile over her shoulder, eyes more green than the rolling hills beneath the mountain.

And Hawke wondered if those shoulders were strong enough to bear her weight, those arms strong enough to catch her, before she fell too far.  Perhaps, perhaps she could do this after all.

As long as she didn’t have to go alone.


End file.
